She seemed to be completely unaware of the sensation she created by addressing her rescuer by name. Maseden felt Nina’s nervous little start, but Sturgess put his astonishment into words.
“Maseden!” he cried. “You know our friend, then?”
“I—I heard his name before—on the ship,” came the faltered answer.
“Well, you heard more than I did.... Are you the mysterious English-speaking vaquero who lived in the forecastle?” and the questioner bent a puzzled face sideways to try and discern the other man’s features.
“Yes,” said Maseden promptly. “There need be no mystery about it now. I got into trouble in Cartagena, shot the president-elect, and escaped in the disguise of a Spanish cowboy.”
“Gee!” exclaimed Sturgess.
For some reason best known to himself he displayed no further curiosity in the matter, though he might well have wondered how Madge Forbes had come to identify that picturesque-looking person, Ramon Aliones, with the American whose exploits had set all Cartagena agog the day before the Southern Cross sailed.
There was an uncomfortable pause, which Maseden broke by a laugh.
“So you see, Mr. Sturgess, I owed you a good turn, though you never guessed it. By your kindness in letting me carry your bag and share your boat I got away from my pursuers without attracting attention.”
“Gee!” said Sturgess again.